The person in reserve

If your eyes are tired, turn them towards captain first grade
Platonov. Your eyes can rest on him. He’s a chummy little old
man in glasses; he has a childish, mischievous expression on
his face with a sly smile, especially if he’s sitting in the garden
reading the national papers. Not in a million years would you
guess that he’s a legendary submariner, an internationally
known commander for his cunning manoeuvres, his daring
decisions and his stunning escapades on land.

Once, at a health resort, he was at a loss for what to
do, so he got well and truly drunk and decided to bathe in
his birthday suit having undressed right there on the town
beach. So they grabbed him, tied him up, arms behind his
back, knocked him around the head and carried him off to
the commandant’s office from where he ran away, breaking
a board in the toilet. But, of course, he rarely got drunk like
that.

One day, on a training mission, his boat surfaced to
cruise level while a helicopter of unknown nationality hovered
in the air, right above his sub’s rocket deck. Helicopters don’t
hover above submarines often enough for Platonov to figure
out their identification.

So he sent everyone down below while he himself
climbed into the deck house, took off his trousers and, bending
over, showed his bluish bottom to world imperialism. Grabbing
his buttocks, he also bent over several times, energetically,
for an explosion, to acquaint his overseas colleagues with his
inner uniqueness.

While he was straining away like this, the annoyed
voice of the Commander of the Northern Fleet bellowed out:
“Hey! Pla-to-nov! Pla-to-nov! Put on your trousers!

And for ignorance of the Russian-made military equip ment
you’ll get a bad mark. Hand in your test report on tactics to
me personally.”

One day this legendary personage asked on a briefing
before the patrol: “Comrade commander, how should we
react on receiving a distress signal from a foreign vessel?”

“Tell them to get lost, got it?” said the commander.

“Got it, Sir!” said Platonov. It turned out to be a
prophetic question. At the end of the patrol, on their way back
to the base, there was an SOS signal coming up; a Norwegian
bulk carrier was drowning – there was a fire onboard and
water leaking in.

The submarine came to the surface and went over to the
bulk carrier. The sub’s emergency crew jumped off the boat.
They put out the fire, started up the engine, filled in the holes,
re-stocked their fuel and … bye-bye.

Arriving back at the base, Platonov reported the incident.
“Ahhhhh!” yelled the chiefs. “It’s a military mission!

Secrecy of position! “D minus!” They prepared documents to
discharge him into the reserves.

But the Norwegian sailors, knowing how things work
in our navy, got busy at their end and requested an award for
the commander of submarine “K-420”, captain first grade
Platonov, for his rescue operation.

“We’ve already rewarded him,” replied our officials.

“He’s been rewarded already,” they assured the
Norwegian naval attaché.

“Well, then send us written confirmation that you’ve
rewarded him and we’ll interview him later, too,” said the
Norwegians, not giving in.

The affair had taken an international turn. Finally,
they had to keep him in the ranks: they gave him an official reprimand and at the same time honoured him with some sort
of a medal.

And yet the Norwegians didn’t calm down until their
government had also dug up a Norwegian decoration for him.

Taking a vacation after all this at a health resort in the
Crimea, Platonov had some sort of medicinal bath treatment
for the first time in his life. Suddenly he became aware with
a pleasant sense of surprise that his health was an object of
interest: a bloke in a white gown came over, took his pulse
and asked how he was feeling.

After the medical personnel had left, Platonov got out of
the bath, put a white gown on himself – it was hanging there
on a hook – and dressed the same way (the gown reaching to
the floor), and with a serious mug, went around all the cabins
and checked all the women’s pulses and asked how they
were feeling. The ladies were delighted with such frequent
visitation by medical personnel.

The wife of the captain came to her senses first: she’d
already seen this gnome somewhere; and when they met at
the canteen, then at last nothing could stop Platonov from
being sent into the reserves.